


The Necromantic Arts

by LunasWufei



Series: Snippets and Fix-Its [41]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21816832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunasWufei/pseuds/LunasWufei
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing having to do with Harry Potter, nothing except the idea’s I do not get paid for.So, because I am a huge nerd, this snippet was thought up because of a game that is coming out. Anyway, let’s see what I can do with this one, shall we? As always, liberties are taken, I make up shit as I go along, enjoy if you can. Here we go.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Series: Snippets and Fix-Its [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556170
Comments: 4
Kudos: 106





	The Necromantic Arts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing having to do with Harry Potter, nothing except the idea’s I do not get paid for. 
> 
> So, because I am a huge nerd, this snippet was thought up because of a game that is coming out. Anyway, let’s see what I can do with this one, shall we? As always, liberties are taken, I make up shit as I go along, enjoy if you can. Here we go.

He was… old. He wasn’t sure  _ how _ old, but he was old. Truth be told, he kind of forgot. After a certain age… years just started to blend together, really. He spent most of, if not all, of his free time studying, researching… and regenerating. Oh, that was another thing, he couldn’t die. Not that he tried, of course, but people hunted him… a lot of people hunted him. It didn’t matter to him, though, he just… pressed on. He sighed as he opened up the tomb he had been looking for, which was, unsurprisingly, underneath a Sumerian crypt. 

  
  


A wave of his wand and the crypt was clean, dust vanishing, and another wave had lights appearing. It was dry, and musty, but he breathed it in like a fine wine. He sighed and walked in, dispelling traps and curses as if they were not even there, before he grinned and found exactly what he was looking for: Scrolls of the Necromantic arts. 

  
  


Necromancy was supposed to be a lost art, taken away for being sinister, for being evil. Yet, the original texts, the ones in his hands, were never really studied. Translation charms did wonders, and he spent the next three months in this tomb, with no food, water or sleep needed. He learned through studying, that he could  _ never _ master these arts. It was not lack of power, no, he had that in spades. His issue was his desires, his wants… his every dream. He had too many of them, too many conflicting desires and emotions. 

  
  


It was why Necromancy was frowned upon, because using such dark magic along with such desires turned you around the twist. You couldn’t keep magic from trying to help you in every way, and that tore at your mind, your ability to keep yourself in check. That did something to him that had not happened in years: It saddened him. However, he did not just stop reading, he kept going. He read, and read… and then read some more. To the point that he practically had these words memorized. 

  
  


He understood now. 

  
  


There had been seven Necromancers in recorded history, and he knew why. There were only seven people, eight now that he would do what was needed, that had used this branch of magic. There was a trick to it though, and even to this day it worked. In order for you to embrace that magic, you needed the wholesome mind and form of a child. Not to sacrifice, or to mutilate, but to inhabit. You had to send your soul, your magic, into a child. The child had to be compatible, which is why six of the seven chose their own younger selves to revert to. 

  
  


He would be no different. 

  
  


He’d send himself back. Back to when he was pure, when his dreams, his wishes were simple. Going back so far would not be an issue, he had developed such magic years ago. His desires of this time, his emotions, would not hinder him, either. He’d be in his younger self, when he knew exactly what he wanted. It would be glorious, to say the least, that was for sure. 

  
  


The ritual took three years to prepare, mostly because he may have had to steal quite a bit. It didn’t matter, in the long run, really. He’d be back to when it mattered, when he could do what needed to be done. He shuddered as he felt the magic fluctuate around him, finally latching onto the desire he knew exactly that he had. His body burned into dust, his magic and soul vanishing in a crack of thunderous magic… and then he was gone. 

  
~TNA~

  
  


“Get up, BOY! Breakfast isn’t going to cook itself!” Petunia Dursley shrieked, banging on the door to the cupboard under the stairs. She turned away, after unlocking it, which made her miss the small flash of blinding light. 

  
  


Ten year old Harry Potter blinked a few times, and then felt his extremities tingle and flood with his magic… both new and old. He smirked softly, and then he started to laugh. Oh he started to laugh heartily. It started out with a giggle, he was a child after all, but years of perfecting his… sinister laugh, started to bleed into it. Petunia heard this laughter, and came to the ‘room’ her nephew was in, dragging him out before dropping him like she burned himself. 

  
  


His eyes were an abyssal black, and his laugh was… down right dark. His tone when he stopped, and the look he gave her, making her whimper and back up, trying to press herself into the wall. He smirked at her, his clothing changing to that of what he wore in his previous life, hair slicked back softly. 

  
  


“Oh my dear, dear aunt Petunia… whatever shall I do to you?” Harry asked, his tone was cold and menacing, far more than that of a child should be. He was about to do something, when he heard the heavy footfalls of his uncle coming down the stairs. 

  
  


“Boy! Where is my breakfast?” Vernon bellowed, then gasped in surprise when those soulless eyes turned to him. 

  
“He knows, Vernon!” Petunia hissed, still staring at her nephew’s form. “I don’t know how, but he-” She was cut off, hands going to her neck as black tendrils snaked around it. 

  
  


“How I know is not important, what I plan to do with this knowledge, is, Vernon.” Harry said, before he decided he had more important things to do. He concentrated, mumbling words neither of them understood, before he let out a wave of pure darkness to both of them. “You have one chance, and one chance only.” Harry said, looking at both of them after letting go of his aunt. 

  
  


“The next time you think ill of me, your hearts stop. That’s it. Dudley doesn’t get that, he’s an innocent… despite being an idiot, but that's your fault, not his.” Harry said, looking at Vernon. “If you don’t think ill of me for a whole day, it goes up to two chances… and so on, and so forth.” He said, growling low in his throat, rather cute from a ten year old. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have… business to attend to.” He said, and in a swirl of shadows and blackness, he was gone from Number Four Privet drive, forever. 

  
He appeared in a small cemetery, and immediately he was bombarded with the sensations of the grave, the darkness of the magic around him. He walked slowly, purposefully, not knowing he was setting off numerous amounts of dark magic detectors around this sacred ground. He found what he was looking for, and then grinned as he ran his hand over the two gravestones of his parents. Finally. He’d have them again. He’d have his family, as he should have had all along! 

  
  


~TNA~

  
  


Alarms went off in an office in the ministry, and it was strictly coincidence that in said office were the heads of the three major government offices. Amelia Bones, Cornelius Fudge, and Albus Dumbledore. Amelia got up to the detectors, and then reeled back with shock, fear, and a bit of disgust. 

  
  


“What is it, Amelia?” Fudge said, already paling, she was not quick to give such emotions. 

  
  


“Necromancer!” Amelia said, hissing heavily. “At Godric’s Hollow!” She all but whispered, before she turned, about ready to leave. 

  
  


“Wait!” Dumbledore said, getting a scathing glare for his trouble, before he spoke again. “FAWKES!” He bellowed, and the magnificent phoenix appeared, and with a soft glance nodded and fluttered to his companion's shoulder. “Grab hold, Amelia. Fawkes, to the old Potter home, please.” He said and a trill had the two whisked away, leaving Fudge to corral aurors as backup. Oh, this would not be good… not at all.

  
  
  


~TNA~

  
  


The scene they arrived at was nothing either had ever seen, and that was indeed saying something given the war and Dumbledore’s age. Upturned earth, with swirling tendrils of dark, thick magic. Aurors already on the scene from those around calling in fright. Dumbledore had his wand out, fearing the worst. Had Tom already returned, had he masted the terrible art of necromancy? Dumbledore did not want to wait to found out, and he pushed through the dark tendrils, to the center of this magical vortex, and once again he was surprised. 

  
  


In the center was a small child, chanting in an ancient tongue, the darkness coming off of him in waves, pouring out of him like an ocean of blackness. He was standing in between the Potter graves, which were open, with the caskets above the dirt. This was not to come to pass, and as Dumbledore was about to raise his wand to fire off a spell, he was stopped by two spirits, belonging to Lily and James Potter. 

  
“Do nothing, Dumbledore!” Lily’s spirit screamed, almost like a banshee. “This is going to happen.” She hissed and he stepped back, her hair floating around her spectral face. 

  
  


“To stop it now, this far in the casting, would destroy everything in a kilometer, Albus.” James said, coming up to his wife, who was still glaring daggers at the older male. He was about to say something, to talk sense into the spirits, when they gasped and were torn from the spot in front of him. They rocketed back towards the child, and they went into their respective caskets. Then, in the next instant, they were out, as if they had just been having a long rest. 

  
  


“Momma!” The child said, and was then embraced by both Lily and James, the magic almost abruptly stopping, Aurors rushing over, wands at the ready, as the boy-who-lived was embraced by previously dead war heroes. 

  
  


“Be very careful, magical constructs are volatile, and they were created through very dark magic.” Dumbledore said, approaching, only to have the blackest eyes he had ever seen, targeted on him. 

  
  


“Touch my parents, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and you will beg for your next great adventure.” The child, Harry Potter, said, voice dripping with malice. “And I will  _ never _ grant it.” He said with a snarl, causing the headmaster to step back. “They are alive… they are my parents, my mamma and poppa.” He said, voice childlike again, eyes that brilliant green, before he was embraced once more. 

  
  


“If they are alive, then perhaps one of my healers could run a diagnostic?” Amelia said, having pushed her way to the front. The power coming off of the savior of the wizarding world was… palpable, and terribly dark. 

  
  


“If they so much as breath another syllable otherwise, I will bathe you in their entrails.” Harry said, before nuzzling back against his mother, who was just gently rocking him back and forth. 

  
  


The healer approached, feeling the magic surround him, testing him as he ran the diagnostics. He knew what he was looking for, and when the magical pressure eased on him, he hummed in thought as he got the results back. 

  
  


“They are alive, Madam Bones. Saturated in dark magic, but it's rapidly leaving them. As a matter of fact, it will be gone in the next few minutes.” The healer said, sheathing his wand. “It’s like they never died… truly remarkable.” He said, and Amelia sighed. 

  
  


“Alright, clean up! I want repairs, I want obliviators here, and I want it five minutes ago!” Amelia said, her aurors going into action, and she turned to a still skeptical Dumbledore. 

  
  


“I do believe, Amelia, that we are still dealing with something… very dark here. It must be handled with caution.” Dumbledore said, and with a huff James spoke. 

  
“Calypso.” James said, and an elf appeared, only to gasp and hug the three Potters. “Take us home, will you?” He said, and the elf nodded, crying happy tears, before they were gone with a soft ~crack~ of elf travel. 

  
  


“It will be handled, Dumbledore, don’t you worry.” Amelia said, before nodding to her second in command, before she was gone with a twist on her heel, the pop of apparition left lingering in the air. Dumbledore sighed and looked around, shaking his head, he knew this was going to be bad… he just knew it. 

  
  
~TNA~

  
  


Dumbledore tried, and tried, but he was unable to get any form of communication to the renewed Potters. Apparently, however, everything was made nice and legal, with proof from the goblins and documents in the ministry as well. As their wills had been sealed, and unread (for the greater good, of course.) they were easy to void, thus solidifying the truth that the elder Potter’s were alive. He was called to St. Mungo’s by an old ally, a healer, one day to a familiar tingle of magic in the air. 

  
  


He came to the Janus Thickey ward and his wand was out, starting to cast spells on the black barrier on the Longbottom room. Just as he was about to dip into his own, darker spell knowledge, the barrier dropped. From the door came three figures, two whom shouldn’t have been walking, but there they were. Alice and Frank Longbottom were holding onto the door frame, healers pushing forward and checking them over. The one in the center, smiling, was none other than Harry Potter. 

  
  


“This one was simple, really. It was just their souls… I didn’t have to rebuild their bodies.” Harry said, grinning up at the healers, Alice smiling and running her fingers through his hair. Her voice, dry and hoarse from nearly a decade of being unused, spoke. 

  
  


“Thank you, Harry… oh I can’t wait to see my little Nevie.” Alice said, and Frank nodded his agreement. Then he hobbled, slowly, to the stunned form of his mother. 

  
  


“Hey mom, long time no see.” Frank said, and she choked a sob before hugging him, and getting one in return. 

  
  


“Well, quite the lovely reunion, don’t you think?” Harry said, smiling brightly, before looking at the Longbottom’s. “Mum and dad will be more than happy to have you for tea sometime, it’s the same floo address.” He said, before glaring at Dumbledore who had his wand at the ready. “You’re not invited, Wulfric.” He said, before his hand twisted and shadows formed and took him away from the hospital. Dumbledore shuddered softly, he wondered if he could revoke acceptance to a school. 

  
~TNA~

“Momma…. Momma get up!” Came the soft sobbing tone of one Luna Lovegood, alone in her home except for the recently warm… body of her mother. There had been a magical explosion, and Selene Lovegood had shielded her daughter from it, having been rather curious as to what her momma had been doing, and the door had been unlocked. Momma and poppa had always said, if a door isn't locked, you may enter when you’re at home. 

  
  


Luna knew what death was, but that didn’t mean she wanted to think about it, especially of her momma. Poppa was out working, he’d not be home for a few hours, and Luna always forgot the floo address. She was just about to floo St. Mungo’s, when there was a burst of magic from her side. Standing there, in dark, light stealing robes, was a small boy. He looked around before he came over and kneeled beside her momma’s form. 

  
  


“Help my momma… please, sir.” Luna asked, sniffling, and the boy smiled and nodded. 

  
  


“That’s what I am here for, Luna.” The boy said, before he looked up and reached out slowly, searchingly. “No, no… your daughter still needs you.” He said, a whisper, before he tugged back and then his hand made an audible slap on her mother’s chest, right over her heart. Then, Selene Lovegood sat up with a heated gasp. An anguished cry of ‘MOMMA!’, heard before she was impacted on and hugged for dear life. Selene gasped and looked around, catching the boy standing, and smiling before he was gone. She’d think about it later, right now she had to console her daughter, and try not to think about being brought back from the dead. 

  
~TNA~

  
  


“Hey, as long as you’re not in Slytherin, I don’t really care.” James Potter said to his son, sitting with him on the bench of Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Sirius Black was there as well, nodding seriously, while his mother Lily and other godfather, Remus Lupin sighed and smiled fondly. “Though if you are, then well, try….  _ Not _ to kill anyone?” He said, and Harry snorted gently. 

  
  


Contrary to what he had been expecting, his parents, his  **real** , family, had not given two squirts of thestral shit that he was a necromancer. In fact, it didn’t bother them at all. They had been brought back to be with their son, to help him grow into the best wizard he could be. Harry squeezed his parents softly, giving them each a kiss on the cheek, before nodding solemnly, and speaking with a heavy, serious tone. 

  
  


“I promise, but If I do, I will bring them back.” Harry said, nodding before devolving into soft giggles along with the gentle laughter of his family. Sure, it was a bit darker in the humor department, but it was just amusement, nothing more. “I should get on the train, i’ll write, promise.” He said, and another pair of hugs saw him getting on the train, sighing lightly as he found a compartment and went into a deep, meditative state. 

  
  


So deep was his meditation, that he did not realize his magic hid his compartment, so that he was not disturbed in the slightest in the entire trip. It was nice, to say the least. He may have also fallen asleep halfway through the trip, he’d never admit to it, though, that was for sure. The trip up to the castle was uneventful, mostly because he still had a bit of that notice-me-not magic on him, but it was stripped once he entered the doors. It was a slight fright when he kind of just… appeared to his fellow first years, but they didn’t make too much noise about it. 

  
  


The sorting went as it had the first time around, even when he was called up, but the conversation with the hat went a bit differently. 

  
  


“My goodness… such a harrowing history, Mr. Potter.” The hat said, and Harry shrugged softly, having let down his considerable mental protection for the hat to properly sort him. “You’ve done so much, go through such a life… but still, you were always so diligent with what you needed. Hmmm, hmm… not as difficult as before. I know exactly where to put you.” The hat mumbled softly, before clearing it’s ‘throat’. 

  
  


“Better be… HUFFLEPUFF!” The hat said, before mentally patting Harry on the head. “It has been quite a long time since I saw such… unwavering loyalty and hard work, even if it was in your past, so to speak. Do Helga proud, Mr. Potter.” It said before it was removed from Harry’s head, and he was off to the sit at the house of the badgers, who welcomed him with smiles and greetings. 

  
  


Dumbledore frowned in thought as Harry went to his new house, stroking his chin softly. The boy was a necromancer, and yet the dark magic wards of the castle did not prevent him from entering. He had been sorted into Hufflepuff as well, not Slytherin as he had feared. Still, he radiated dark magic, and there was not a stitch of light within him. He would watch the boy, that went without saying. 

  
~TNA~

The first instance of his abilities being… kind of called upon, was in his first History of Magic, class. The teacher, Professor Binns, just stared at him. There was no roll call, no greeting to the students. Nothing but a long, unblinking stare. It lasted a good ten minutes, before the ghost spoke ever so softly. It was almost too soft, but with a silent classroom it was heard. 

  
  


“Can I go now, Mr. Potter?” Binns said, and Harry nodded. There was a surge of dark, thick tendriled magic, before the ghost sighed and vanished. Harry then opened up his book, and with a soft hum started to read. He found that a good portion of the students in his class scooted away, but it didn't bother him, really. Though, he was surprised when two chairs were pulled up. Hermione Granger sat next to him, and on his opposite side was Neville Longbottom. He was friends with the latter, and the former was just eager to learn and read. She’d probably ask a whole bunch of questions later, but he didn’t mind. 

  
  


The other students either outright ignored what happened, or rushed out of the room, scared out of their wits. The boy-who-lived just sent a ghost to the great beyond, that was not something you saw every day… or at all, really. 

  
  
~TNA~

Defense Against the Dark Arts was an entirely different matter altogether, and Harry spent a good portion of it  _ glaring _ at Prof. Quirrel. He answered when his name was called, and gave answers to questions when others would not. Still, there was that… insistent glare. Quirrel gulped softly, and at the end of the class everyone went to dinner… everyone except Harry. 

  
  


“Let me speak with Tom.” Harry said, and Quirrel flinched. The door locked with a flick of the taller male’s wand, and then he undid his turban. The face behind it looked… fearful. 

  
  


“Mr. Potter.” Tom said, his voice hoarse from disuse, and tinged with fear. 

  
  


“The stone will only return your body, not your sanity.” Harry said, eyes boring into what was left of Tom’s soul. “Bring me the rest of your… trinkets, and I might think about returning you to a proper body.” He said, grinning. “It would be… _incredibly_ painful, but seeing as my parents are alive now, I see no reason to seek terrible revenge.” He said with a low, sinister chuckle. 

  
  


“Give me time to think of this, Mr. Potter?” Tom said, and Harry nodded, waving him off softly. 

  
  


“You have until Yule, Tom.” Harry said, before getting up and leaving. Tom/Quirrel sat down, the former shuddering slightly. He feared death, thus his made up name, but sweet Morgana, the child wielded death like a  _ toy _ . 

  
  


“Master?” Quirrel asked, getting silence in return for but a moment. 

  
  


“I shall contemplate this… generosity from Mr. Potter, Quirinus. Leave me to it.” Tom said, and Quirrel nodded, before re-wrapping his head and going off to dinner. 

  
~TNA~

  
  


Dumbledore frowned as he looked at the paper one morning in early May the following year, having caught a name he did not think he would see ever again: Tom Marvolo Riddle. Apparently the man had taken a very, very long sabbatical, and was just now returning to Wizarding Britain. He looked every bit as charismatic and handsome as he had been in his youth, and he was already seen around the likes of Lucius Malfoy, and the Minister himself. The stone was still in the school, it had not been touched, but it seemed Tom had gotten his body back.

  
  


“Enter.” Dumbledore said, just after he heard a knock on the door. He looked up to see the boy he had summoned, with his head of house behind him. “Ah, thank you Pomona. You ma-” He started, and then she cut him off with a rather loud snort. 

  
  


“Please, Albus. The day I let you alone with one of my badgers is the day I am a guest with Poppy.” Prof. Sprout said, before sitting down on a conjured chair, Harry sitting on the one that was already vacant there. “Get on with whatever it is you want to speak to Harry about, lunch is starting soon.” She said, leaning back, waiting. Dumbledore held in a sigh, Pomona never really… took to the hero worship that many other adults under his service did. 

  
  


“Very well, very well.” Dumbledore said, before shuddering ever so softly at the green eyed child in front of him, who might as well be staring into his soul. He was actually quite sure that's what was going on. “I was wondering, Mr. Potter, if you know anything about recent developments of a certain… dark lord.” He said, going straight to the point. Prof. Sprout was about to tear into the headmaster, when Harry grinned gently. 

  
  


“You mean Tom?” Harry asked, and at Dumbledore’s nod, he went on. “Yes, I helped him return. It was not easy for him, there was a lot of remorse and pain he had to go through. Yet, he repented.” He leaned back softly. “A lot of the families he hurt have been given… reparations, as well. Both magical and… non.” He said, and Prof. Sprout looked at him, before looking at Dumbledore. 

  
  


“Do you think that wise, Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore asked, and Harry tilted his head. 

  
  


“You have preached, for many years, about redemption.” Harry started. “And yet, when one of your greatest adversaries actually succeeds in doing so, you ask if it is the right thing to do.” He said, then huffed lightly. “You’re a bit of a hypocrite, you know.” He said, before grinning and letting his eyes glow for the briefest of moments. 

  
  


“Thank you, Harry. Let me talk with my brother.” Said the spirit, the soul, of Arianna Dumbledore, causing the elder Dumbledore to lean back and pale softly, getting a gentle glare from his deceased sister. “I love you, brother, but I am rather vexed with you, and Abe.” She said, and then started to not quite tear into him, but give him a verbal what for. Prof. Sprout and Harry leaving, the latter chuckling softly. Oh. Life was going to be so much fun, that was for sure. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> AN: And that’s it. That’s all I could muster. It was in the works for a small while, and like a lot of my idea’s, it kind of just… teetered off. Either way, enjoy if you can. Read and review please, thank you. 


End file.
